Winchester Cheer
by Wolvinheart
Summary: Sam struggles to find a present, gifts are traded, memories are recalled. A Winchester Christmas. Light mentions of Wincest.


**A/N**: _Today I woke up, and it felt like Christmas, and that's where the story came from. Fic gets happier as it goes on. Very slight mention of underage kiss as well, thank you for reading!_

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Sam sighed, dropping his head to rest his forehead on the cool, frosted glass. It was Christmas Eve, a time to be jolly and drink eggnog, which was admittedly disgusting, but still, it was the thought that counts. 

And here he was on the street on some hick town in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by gaudy decorations and drunken men, who smelled of cabbage for some unexplainable reason, he really didn't care to know.

Dean was back at the motel room, still curled up with the bleached blonde from the pub, or he was last Sam checked; he hadn't been back to the room in hours.

A town like this, if your family wasn't here, you wouldn't hear from them, and if you were a waitress, you had no friends apart from the visiting truckers, so the only thing they could do was go for the best looking and smelling and have a go. Hell, three girls had tried to get with Sam, but he wasn't in the mood.

After a night of listening to muffled panting and high pitched moans to accompany the creaking of the bed, he didn't exactly feel the holiday cheer. More often than not, these days brought depressed thoughts, of his time spent with Jess when they would hang up flickering lights and listen to carolers at the park.

Worst of all, stretch of road that far with no place to stop apart from a gas station and convenience store with a couple of rented rooms on the top floor, there was no time to buy or make a present. Unless Dean wanted a Ho Ho.

So now he was looking through the glazed over window of the only shop in town, looking over porcelain unicorns of all shapes and sizes, ones with gold horns and silver, sometimes both twined.

Great, wonderful. Dean would be sure to love a frolicking, pink horse on a stand with a piece of gold stuck to its head that would break the moment they hit the bumpy road. But it was all there was.

So with the a resigned sigh and flushed cheeks, he entered the store, a tinkling sound marking his way over to the display case. If he was going to buy Dean a unicorn, he was going to get the most girl-ish, garnished, over all disgusting one he could find.

It wasn't that hard, in the end. Up on the top shelf where he doubted many could reach without a step ladder he found one to size of his his palm, meaning it was large compared to the others.

True to his thoughts, it was a light shade of pink, just this side of hot; it's horn looked to be real gold, not painted, though it was polished to hell; horns topped it off, glittering fake diamonds; eyes were a beady, encompassing black, framed by black eyelashes and pure white mane; it's tail lay the same, flaring out in an arraying shine. The whole thing was on a pole resting on a red velvet stand, twisting gold going in and out, like a miniature marry-go-round. The very tip of the rounded off pole had silver ribbons spilling out.

It was perfect.

Carefully lifting it, he weighed it in his palm, about a pound, and sturdy. Good. When he got to the counter, the woman behind it looked up with wide eyes, obviously not used to seeing people in the store if the amount of figurines still there were anything to go by.

Hurrying up she asked for his order, grabbing the unicorn and stating the price of one hundred dollars and, damn that was a lot of money! Sam didn't have much other to spend it on though, so he coughed it up without complaint.

With the newly bought present wrapped in purple, star covered wrappings, he hurried out of the enclosed area, feeling claustrophobic.

The motel they were staying at was only a couple of blocks away, hell the entire town was a mile stretch, so it only took a minute to be in front of their paint chipped door with the gold number sixty-nine resting on the side. There had been many rooms left, but Dean had specifically asked for this one, the pervert.

Sam would never admit that he too found it amusing.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed in, letting the heady scent of sex and sweat wash over him as he stepped into the room. Dean was sitting against the headboard, worn boxer shorts low on his hips as he flipped the channels on the fuzzy television set lazily.

Sam shook his head, setting the present on the deeply scratched table and taking a seat on the opposite bed.

"Where's the blonde, what was her name? Sherry?"

Dean snorted, tossing a look over his shoulder at him.

"How the hell am I supposed to remember. She said she had to get back to her kids, dude, where were you?"

Sam nodded his towards to box.

"Getting your present."

Dean took one look at the box and his eyes gained an incredulous gleam, mouth twisting into a grimace.

"Man, what did you get me? A diary?"

Sighing, Sam went to his bed, flopping down and covering his head with the pillow, when he spoke, his words came muffled.

"No, and you're not finding out what it is till tonight, and did you even get me something? Apart from the bartenders phone number?"

A noise coming from the back of his brothers throat caused him to pull the pillow down low enough so that he could see his brothers look.

"Since when have I ever not given you something when you were actually around?"

Which was true, when they were younger and couldn't afford spending money on a present or simply couldn't go out and get one since they weren't allowed to leave the room, Dean would get creative. Sam remembered one particular Christmas when he was thirteen, just getting into his height and where everyday was either all sunshine and daises to the point of annoyance or complete and utter doom.

Dean had been climbing up the walls, he hadn't been permitted to go out by their father until he sent word that it was safe enough to and they had had too many nights of greasy, plastic pizza.

But Dean had somehow managed to talk the local fast food place to deliver, the only place open on Christmas Eve. Sam could still recall that being the best apple pie he had ever tasted even though it was from a cardboard box the size of his hand.

Best of all, was the present, Sam hadn't managed to get anything, so he simply gave the offer of doing anything Dean wanted for a day. Dangerous, but considering they couldn't leave the house, not that bad; Dean still had the pictures. Dean knew him though, that he had never been on a date, never been kissed, so he had offered to teach him.

Sam hadn't refused and therefore the rest of the night was spent giggling in a way Dean would never admit, sharing and teaching techniques.

By the time morning broke, Sam had been declared a pro.

They of course never spoke of it again, and Sam had dismissed it as a one time thing, not saying he didn't think about it every single god damn day.

"Fine. What'd you get me?" He inwardly winced at the eagerness in his voice.

Dean smirked, leaning over the side of his bed to reach underneath, when he came back up, he was holding a slim box which he tossed on his chest. Sam gave him his own box and both looked at each other for a moment before ripping apart the tissues, forgetting the midnight opening rule.

Looking in wonder at the piece of jewelry before him, he reached out a hand, lightly skimming the cord. Dean's necklace. He felt tears rise in his eyes, falling down his cheeks.

Dean had never parted with this, never. The thought that he was giving him this, it was too much. And he felt guilt flood him, he had gotten him a freakin' unicorn.

The sound of amusement made him glance up from where his hand was still clenched tightly around the box.

Dean was staring at the gift, eyes sparkling in amusement, fingertips slowly running through the glossy mane.

"Thanks Sammy, this is, ah, great."

Sam snorted noisily, and not caring about the usual barriers, launched himself at his brother, latching onto his side and burrowing his face in his neck.

Dean tumbled backward, back onto the headboard as arms came up to wrap around him.

"Whoa there. I take it you like my my present?"

Sam nodded as much as he could, forehead rubbing the smooth skin of Dean's neck.

"Thank you."

Five minutes later, he pulled away, running a hand across his face.

The space between them filled with a type of awkward silence that was comfortable at the same time. Dinner was the usual affair, talking filling the void, laughter and memories only shared at these times.

Sam never saw Dean safely bundle up his gift in layers upon layers of soft clothes, tucking it away in his bag.

But as the curtains closed and moonlight settled when the clock struck Christmas, his voice appeared from the bundle of blankets he had wrapped himself in.

"Hey Dean, you remember that time when I was thirteen?"


End file.
